


(Physical) Therapy

by Galahard



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Cardigan appreciation, I swear the eyepatch is there the whole time, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Miscommunication did you mean no communication, Oral Sex, Physical therapy as written by someone who has never had physical therapy, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-08
Updated: 2017-09-08
Packaged: 2018-12-25 04:10:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12027834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Galahard/pseuds/Galahard
Summary: Prompt: Harry is a survivor of V-Day. He is assigned a physical therapist who is supposed to get him back to normal. Their increasing interactions and sexual tension become the shining light in Harry's life.





	(Physical) Therapy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lifegivingwords](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lifegivingwords/gifts).



It was a miracle he was still alive, and if one more person told him that, he was probably going to shoot them in the fucking head just to prove them right.

Harry shot a glare at the secretary who had taken his paperwork, but with the eyepatch he’d lost most of the impact the gesture had once had, and the woman simply smiled back at him. For good measure he mentally cursed Merlin, again, who had sent him to this godforsaken clinic in the first place. Apparently while Kingsman had emergency medical staff who could take care of everything else he had need of, physical therapy was best taken care of by outside professionals. This clinic had excellent ratings, and had been used several years ago by one of their agents who had made a full recovery, so for now Harry’s only mission status was to work toward a full recovery. Mainly so he no longer had to rely on his umbrella as a cane.

Still, the knee brace itched under his suit, and he was already tired from standing with his weight almost entirely on his left leg. Shit, he was tired just from standing this long, which irritated him to no end. Being stuck in bed for almost three weeks had shredded what had been left of his temper, and now he was dealing with this little idiot, who insisted on pointing out the obvious. Yet again.

He’d been ignoring the woman’s ramblings for the most part, having tuned in long enough to hear that there had been an upsurge in their business since V-Day (big surprise), and he was startled when there was finally silence. He looked back at her, and now he could see that he’d finally managed to annoy her: she must have realized he hadn’t been paying attention.

“I said have a seat Mr. Hart,” she snapped. “Someone will escort you to the gym when your trainer is free.”

It was a relief to sit. He hadn’t had a torn ACL since he’d been a teenager, plus several smaller injuries had languished as he recovered from surgery. If all that had been wrong with him was his eye he’d have been up and about weeks ago, with merely the collection of bruises that had accompanied his loss of depth perception. Instead, his injury at the church had placed him in the hospital. The hospital where phones should have been turned off to not interfere with machinery or the quiet, but there were cell phones everywhere. Valentine’s cell phones.

After his second encounter with the signal he’d awoken, crumpled on the ground, with his ACL torn, two stab wounds, and several impressive scrapes and bruises. Thankfully in the chaos he’d been able to put out a distress call, and Kingsman had recovered him, so he’d been able to recuperate in England rather Kentucky. It was one of the best things that had ever happened to him. At the very least it had helped him get over the fact that his candidate had turned out to be a spoiled little prick who hadn’t even made it to the halfway point of the trials.

Well. Mostly.

Harry was still deep in thought when the door opened and someone in a blue shirt with the clinic’s logo called his name. He hobbled after them, listening with half an ear as they told him about entering through the gym now that he’d filled out his paperwork, and how he would need to sign in. He was far more interested in observing his surroundings, seeing the various torture devices he’d become acquainted with. There were several pairs of individuals working, and it was actually a decent sized establishment.

A flash of movement caught his eye, and he turned slightly to see a young man jogging up, an easy smile on his face as he flashed the other employee a grin before turning to face him. Of course he’d get the young sort, the one with no experience but great ideals or some shit. At least he was nice to look at, so maybe there was one tiny perk to this whole ordeal even if it was a waste of time.

“Hello, I’m Eggsy, and I’ll be your physical therapist until we get that bloody knee of yours sorted, yeah?”

He hadn’t been expecting the accent, and for a moment he felt off balanced as the other employee wandered off. “I’m Harry Hart, I presume you’ve already seen the records or scans that you need.”

“Yeah I did Mr. Hart, so I’ve already got the basics of your treatment plan drawn up, but I wanted to see how you was doing on your own, to see if anything needs to be adjusted. Your charts show you was pretty fit before all this sh--stuff happened, and with you wanting to make a full recovery it’s going to be pretty intense for the next couple of months.”

“Harry.” He corrected Eggsy almost absently, “and yes, a full recovery is necessary. But I would prefer to spend as little time here as possible, so if we could focus on exercises I can do on my own to speed things along, maybe take a look at only doing two days a week instead of three, that would be lovely.”

“Look, Mr. Hart, that’s a nice idea and all but that ain’t how things work around here. You’re here to make a full recovery, and that’s what you’re going to get. You won’t get there if you’re shirking from the beginning. So here’s how this is going to go. Today we’re going to evaluate where you are, and we’ll start you off on some basic exercises. Wednesday we’ll go over your full treatment plan so you can see just how long I expect all of this is going to take, before we do some more exercises. Then Friday you’re still going to be here, and we’ll be spending the entire time focusing on your recovery. By Saturday you’re going to bloody well hate me, because you’re going to be sore, but that’s how physical therapy works. You’ve got to put something into it if you want to get something out, yeah?”

“We’ll see.”

\-------

Harry Hart was a menace. Eggsy’d had his suspicions on Monday, with that little suggestion they speed things along, and then the man had questioned him endlessly and in general made things difficult, so everything had gone slower than normal. Wednesday hadn’t been much better, so going over the treatment plan had taken twice as long as it normally would. They’d barely had time to go through the light exercises they’d worked on on Monday before he was dismissing Mr. Hart so he could get ready for his next client, and he’d taken up half of his break time in the process. In fact, he was fairly certain he was going to have to extend the treatment calendar, because he couldn’t get anything fucking done.

The worst part about it was that he’d actually convinced himself while working with his first client that he’d exaggerated things. They were both adults, surely he was imagining that the older man was acting petulant. Things would go well, they’d get through their hour unscathed, and when all was said and done at 10:15 he’d be shed of Mr. Hart until Monday. Pure and simple.

At 9:15 however, his client still hadn’t actually made it into the gym.

Eggsy took it in stride. Clients were sometimes late, it could be due to traffic, and if they were in a rush it wasn’t like they could hurry while they had a physical injury. By 9:25 he’d finished reorganizing and rerolling the couple of yoga mats that were out of place from the first rounds of clients, and Mr. Hart still hadn’t shown. It was 9:29 before he actually came through the doors, still insisting on wearing one of his damn suits even though Eggsy had told him that comfort and mobility were key rather than fashion, and he looked completely unperturbed that he’d already wasted a quarter of their time.

He’d dealt with his share of difficult clients, typically the ones too lazy to bother keeping up with the work at home, but this was a whole other level of ridiculousness. So Eggsy continued cleaning the mirror he was working on, not wanting to leave it half done as he spritzed a small amount of cleaner on the bottom of the mirror and continued to wipe it with even strokes of his rag, counting mentally to keep his anger under control.

It took several minutes for his client to approach, and another before he cleared his throat, during which time Eggsy had started on a second mirror.

“I thought you’d remember the basic exercises by now, Mr. Hart. You’ll need to go ahead to the mat and get started if we’re going to make any progress today.”

Cleaning the mirror gave him a perfect chance to watch the flash of annoyance cross the man’s face. “Isn’t the point of me being here having you make sure I’m doing everything correctly?”

“Nah, the point of you being here is to recuperate from your injuries.” Eggsy sprayed on a bit more cleaner, rubbing at a smudge that didn’t want to immediately wipe away. It took a moment, but finally Mr. Hart did as instructed, running through the exercises. They were a bit rushed, the whole concept of going slow as to not put undue stress on his knee apparently forgotten, though his form wasn’t bad. However, a couple of times he saw a wince as he finished up the wall of mirrors, and finally set aside the cleaning supplies before approaching his client and crouching down.

He’d made it to the last one, sitting with a towel under his ankle to elevate it slightly, his thigh tensed and pushing his knee toward the ground, his jaw clenched.

“Not so hard,” Eggsy cautioned, “uncomfortable is expected, but if there’s actual pain you’re pushing yourself too much. Loosen up a bit.”

“It’s fine.”

“No, it’s really not, if you hurt yourself you set back your recovery. Now do a rep of ten knee bends.”

“I’ve already done those, which you would have known if you were over here.”

“I saw, but they weren’t satisfactory. So you’re going to prove to me that you can do them correctly. Slow down, but keep up a steady pace. One.”

He ignored the annoyed look he received, watching several repetitions before stopping Mr. Hart by putting a hand on his ankle and pushing it back a bit farther than he’d been going, keeping his hand there to feel the amount of resistance. “Seven. Eight. That’s it, nine. Ten. Alright, I think that’s enough of that. Now then, I want to start adding another exercise to your repertoire. Start this one with three reps of ten like the others, and try to work it up to reps of twenty five, but don’t push it too hard.”

The next twenty minutes were excruciating. Just like earlier in the week Mr. Hart continued to question him, wasting his time in slivers that were adding on to the initial fifteen, and grating on his nerves in the process. Finally he moved them over to the leg press, dropping the resistance as low as it would possibly go while Mr. Hart laid down on the machine.

“Reps of ten to start with, you know the drill. You will _not_ straighten your leg, or even come close to straightening your leg while doing these exercises. I expect small movements only, and if I see anything else there will be hell to pay. Do you understand?”

By now he was snappish, and further annoyed by the fact that he rarely let a client put him in such a mood in the first place, which made it all the more surprising when the miracle happened.

“Yes.”

For once, it wasn’t a question about his methods or anything else, and when he quickly looked down it was to see a look of confusion on Mr. Hart’s face that almost mirrored how he felt, but Eggsy wasn’t about to let this go to waste, and simply began counting.

They only had a few minutes left by the time they were done, and already he’d had to take one of the machine rotations out of the schedule, as well as several of the end session stretches and smaller exercises. They moved over to one of the exam tables, but there was only time for a couple of flexion hangs and a few prone hangs, trying to fully extend the leg muscles. He left Mr. Hart stretched out to go get a bag of ice, handing it to him when the man sat back up before grabbing his clipboard and jotting down a couple of notes.

“Make sure you keep the ice on for a bit before you leave, we don’t want your knee swelling up after all of this. You can expect some soreness later today and tomorrow, but you need to keep up the exercises, and add in what you can that we did today.”

“We’re done then?”

“For today,” Eggsy agreed, and then gave him a smile, as false as he could make it. “You’re making progress Mr. Hart. By the time we’re done here you should be able to walk again relatively normally, though at your age no one will think twice about you using a cane if the weather is bad and your knee acts up.”

That caused the reaction he expected, the storm of anger and indignation that had been brewing since long before he’d had his first unfortunate encounter with Mr. Hart.

“I am not here to be able to totter around when this is all said and done. You said I could have my full range of motion back. That I _would._ ”

“You still can,” Eggsy agreed, keeping his tone as amiable as possible. “If you decide to stop fucking around, we’ll get you back to how you used to be. But that means you need to stop wasting my time with idiotic questions, and I expect you to be on time, rather than wasting so much of your session that I have to cut out exercises you need to be doing. Honestly, it’s up to you. Figure it out, and if you actually want to make a recovery in full I’ll see you on Monday. At 9:15 this time. Otherwise, don’t bother showing up.”

\--------

He’d had all weekend to fume over his insolent trainer’s remarks. And he’d had all weekend to cringe over his behavior the past week. Honestly, Harry wasn’t sure which one bothered him more at this point. He was always punctual, and no one had ever been able to (rightfully) accuse him of shirking his duties before, but Eggsy was demanding, and borderline rude about it.

But actually, Harry wasn’t entirely sure he minded. There was something about how their sessions were going that felt real, perhaps the imperfection of it all, and he found himself striding through the doors of the clinic gym several minutes early. He was still in his usual suit, it had all the mobility that he needed, it was work attire after all, but he did take the time to hang up his coat. His shoes and umbrella were both stowed with a couple of minutes to spare and he headed over to the mat without bothering to find Eggsy first, going through the first sets of slightly boring exercises before his time had even officially begun.

It was worth it when Eggsy emerged from a side room labeled “Staff Only,” at precisely 9:15, because it gave Harry a chance to see the look of surprise flit across his face, chased quickly by a grin. “Good morning Mr. Hart. Raring to go this morning, yeah? Hm, those heel pulls are coming along nicely, looks like you’re gaining a bit of flexibility already.”

“You won’t give me anything else to do, so I thought it was high time I became a professional.”

He still didn’t have a perfect read on the young man, so he was slightly relieved when Eggsy laughed, and carried on as if Harry hadn’t been giving him shit every other time he’d met with him. Harry found himself relaxing slightly, losing himself to the steady movements and not minding so much the dull repetition as he finished out the set. In fact, the exercises seemed to go by slightly faster as Eggsy moved him from machine to machine this time, sometimes demonstrating first how he wanted Harry to do something, or occasionally having him do something fairly normal, but with only a small amount of resistance.

The familiar sensation of a droplet of sweat sliding down his back was his first realization of how strenuous this session was compared to the others, and it was with a small flush of embarrassment that he realized why. Without his arguments they were getting to the next task faster, and as he worked Eggsy kept up a fairly steady stream of talk, mostly informational, explaining all the processes that Harry would have probably demanded to know the week before. But despite the hard work it was almost relaxing to simply go with the flow. It reminded him of missions, of listening to the voice through the headset telling you to take a left, or to kick down the third door and fire at 11:00.

They moved to the exam table earlier in their session than on Friday, and this time Eggsy stayed with him as he worked through the stretches, applying pressure lightly when he deemed necessary to coax more from his tired muscles. What Harry hadn’t been expecting were the skilled hands then working over the muscles in his calf, moving up and then shifting to his thigh. It was the sort of massage that bordered on painful, but he knew he would appreciate later, and he felt boneless after just a few short minutes. It took a moment to register Eggsy asking him to sit back up and he watched as Eggsy started the absurd process of manipulating his patella.

“It’s important to keep this one mobile. Scar tissue can build up after the surgery if you don’t, so you can do this yourself when you’re at home. Just apply a bit of pressure side to side, then up and down to keep it loose. Nothing crazy. Same thing with those prone stretches, you can do those off your bed. Just make sure you’re keeping your pain levels low, you ain’t doing yourself no favours by pushing it too hard.”

“Discomfort is okay, but avoid pain.” It almost felt like Harry’s brain was clearing up, and despite feeling clammy from drying sweat he felt the best he had in a couple of weeks. Not necessarily happy, but perhaps something like contentment, and that was his only real excuse for why he continued talking. “See? You _can_ teach an old dog new tricks.”

“Hey, I didn’t say nothing of the sort. I never would, not to a client.” But despite the mock outrage, Eggsy winked at him. “But you bloody well ain’t wrong, bruv.”

\--------

Honestly, he no longer dreaded Mr. Hart at 9:15. In fact, the mornings when he had Mr. Hart were quickly becoming some of his favourites. During those first three sessions he’d been half ready to just kick the man in the shin and run, but once he’d finally stopped taking out his anger at his injuries on Eggsy things had been going well. Remarkably well.

The sessions were a bit different than his usual ones, actually, but that just made them interesting. It was as if, now that Mr. Hart had put him through hell to test him, he was doing his best to make up for it. He followed instructions impeccably, and seemed to thrive when he knew why he was doing a particular set of motions. It was actually a good refresher for Eggsy himself, as he had to remind himself not just that something was good for torn ACL recovery, but why, and then explain it.

For any other client it wouldn’t have necessarily been bad, but it hardly would have moved them into the position of a favoured client. However, with Mr. Hart there was something he couldn’t quite put a finger on. It was probably because he was such a shit the first few times, but now when he followed instructions or did something particular well, he wanted to do something for him. It was something he’d typically ignore, but that was before he’d acted on impulse and praised the older man for something, and he’d reacted. His eye had lit up, a smile begging to be released by tugging at the corners of his lips, and Eggsy had found it rather mesmerizing. He’d wondered about it over the weekend, wondered if there had been a light blush as well, disguised by the flush of exercise.

And now he was still thinking about it on Monday as he watched Mr. Hart doing step overs, forwards and backwards, designed to work on his balance. It was still a fairly slow exercise, but it was infinitely less boring than the newest set of balancing exercises that they’d started with, calf raises and balancing on one leg. Though that had been early in the session, when Mr. Hart was still somewhat talkative.

“Excellent, we’ll finish at the exam table. I’ll be with you in just a moment, go ahead and start the stretches you’ve been working on so far.”

He worked with him for several minutes, going through some of the basic calf stretches that needed to be done still and then working on a few more, adding in some hip extensions when Mr. Hart was on his stomach before telling him to relax and starting in on the massage that was quickly becoming the end to their routine.

“So most of what we did today was things you can incorporate into your exercises at home, but don’t think you need to do all of them at once. Wednesday we’re going to start some more exercises focusing on strength rather than flexibility and balance, and I think by next week we’ll probably go to twice a week. Mondays and Thursdays work?” 

Mr. Hart nodded, and Eggsy moved back down to his calf, which still seemed slightly tense. “Honestly, I’ve been impressed by your progress, Harry.” 

He actually heard the small intake of breath, and he let out a pleased hum as Harry’s calf finally relaxed before continuing, talking in a low and even tone. “I know you’re putting a lot into our sessions. Ain’t everyone that does that you know. But you’re different Harry, and you’ll be right as rain in no time, yeah?”

By the time he was done he was several minutes into his break, and his client was once again practically boneless on his exam table. “I’ve got to go wipe down the machines we used, but I’ll see you on Wednesday, Mr. Hart.”

There was no real reason that he gave Mr. Hart’s ankle a squeeze as he passed, but he couldn’t seem to bring himself to regret it.

\-------

“You’re doing so good for me, Harry. You’re really holding your extensions in your lunges, and honestly you’re more balanced than the yoga instructor my friend drug me to once.”

Eggsy was murmuring to him through the last few stretches of their session, the way he’d started to do over the past several weeks, but for Harry it was like he was just waking up. He was exhausted, per usual, but he could have easily sat there for hours doing no more than gripping the exam table and doing a hamstring stretch, or lying down face first to do a quad stretch, just so long as Eggsy’s voice lapped at the edges of his senses.

“You realize you’re putting blokes half your age to bloody shame, yeah? Starting to realize I’d have a hard time keeping up with you if you wasn’t injured. Honestly it’s impressive.”

It was a different voice than he used during the majority of their session. For the first part he was brisk and authoritative, but Harry had grown not to mind it. What was actually impressive was how much progress he’d made in three full weeks, with the first week being almost a complete wash. They were back on track starting week four, and it was all because of Eggsy. Eggsy who was far more competent than Harry’d initially given him credit for. It made it that much easier to trust him, to believe that what he was being asked to do was important, or else Eggsy wouldn’t have asked him to do it in the first place.

Eggsy’s hands were moving up his leg now, moving with a casual certainty, as if they remembered the path they were meant to take. Actually, he was somewhat convinced that Eggsy’s hands contained some sort of magical power, and it was easier to think that than to think about how good that touch felt. How Eggsy’s touch felt. Because it was becoming more difficult by the session to ignore whose hands were on him.

He shifted slightly, his leg fine but his lower back reminding him that he probably needed to schedule an actual massage at some point, and the hands on his leg stilled.

“Is everything alright, Harry?”

Everything was fine, but apparently Eggsy couldn’t read his mind, and after several seconds of silence his therapist spoke again, his voice slightly firmer. Not the same as during the rest of their session, but not the soft tone Harry was expecting.

“Mr. Hart, I need you to tell me if anything is wrong.”

“My lower back is all, my leg is fine.”

The words were out before he’d really thought about them, but the peaceful mood he’d been enjoying was dissipating before he could stop it. There was something jarring about the way Eggsy had spoken that had shaken him out of his stupor.

“Say something next time,” Eggsy said, his voice back to his soothing tone, but it was difficult for Harry to relax again. “The human body is all interconnected, all of this exercise is putting more strain on your back as well, but I can work on that to make sure everything remains in balance.”

“Perhaps next time, Eggsy.” He was already moving to sit up, legs dangling off of the exam table, a strange urge to fuss over his hair, tie, something, twitching in his fingertips. “I just remembered somewhere I need to be. I presume I’ll keep doing the basic exercise and integrate in the lunges and wall squats we went over this week?”

For the first time that he could remember, his therapist looked somewhat perplexed, but he nodded. “Yeah, that’s right. Remember, we’re switching to Thursday, so I guess you’ll be a pro at all of that by then. Make sure you ain’t pushing yourself too hard though, it’d suck to have a set back now.”

Eggsy clapped him on the shoulder, then seemed to think better of walking him out and instead turned back to fuss over something or other. Harry wasn’t entirely sure what, for now he just needed to get out. To clear his head. Something.

\-------

Thursday simply couldn’t come quickly enough. For two days Eggsy had agonized over the fact that he’d messed something up. He wasn’t actually sure what he’d done, or how he’d done it, but it didn’t change that he’d fucked something up.

He’d worried over it until Wednesday afternoon. It’d had been mid-session with a cocky bloke a couple of years older than him that was pissed off he’d gotten stuck with a male therapist, and Eggsy had possibly prescribed him a longer session on the rowing machine than was strictly necessary just to shut him up, when he’d glanced outside, imagining freedom. That might have been it, but this session was worse than anyone realized, and he’d indulged in a moment of fantasy, imagining that he was outside of the clinic and enjoying the paltry rays of sun peeking out from between the buildings, when he had spotted him. 

For a moment he’d half convinced himself he was imagining it. It was a newspaper he’d actually seen, a copy of _The Sun_ for some reason, and the person that had sat on the bench across the way, the paper held up to hide their face, could have been anyone.

But there’d been an umbrella next to the mysterious stranger, and from where Eggsy had stood he was pretty sure that what little he could see was a suit.

Plus, he’d just known. It was Harry sitting out there. If it had been Wednesday morning he might have imagined that he’d forgotten their new schedule, but it wasn’t. It had been Wednesday afternoon, and Harry Hart had sat across from the clinic, reading a shitty tabloid. 

It’d kept him up, tossing and turning, for what had felt like hours. His first client on Thursdays was an elderly woman in her 70s, doing her best to recover from a bad fall that’d snapped her wrist and fractured her hip, and he loved her. She was always bribing him with peppermints so she wouldn’t have to do her least favorite exercises, and she’d repeatedly admitted to trying to put some meat on his bones with her gifts of biscuits and scones on a regular basis. But he’d barely been able to focus on her session, causing her to cackle and theorize about his relationships.

When Harry had finally arrived he hadn’t quite known what to say, and before he could figure out what was going on he was brushing off an apology from Harry for rushing off on Monday, and slipping back into their usual patterns. 

He was endlessly fascinated by the older man, and perhaps that was why he’d been haunting his thoughts for three full days.

Harry, in his carefully pressed suits that were often in some state of disarray when he left, working on the cycling machine with his hair just starting to escape, a few shorter pieces trying to curl when they escaped. Eggsy barely had to instruct him before he was going faster, slower, adding resistance, whatever he wanted. Without question. It was a heady feeling almost but there was also the knowledge that it was Harry Hart doing as he asked, and he knew the fiery personality that lurked just below the surface. Which meant Harry Hart was choosing to listen to him and act without question.

In the end he kept his observation to himself. So what if Harry had been sitting outside the clinic. He hadn’t hurt anything, and honestly, it might not have been him in the first place. He pushed the thoughts to the back of his mind as his hands maneuvered up Harry’s leg. It always felt strange to him doing this. Sure, he’d massaged plenty of clients, but no one else wore a suit to actually work out in. This time, however, when he got to the top of his thigh he moved farther up the exam table, thumbs pressing into Harry’s lower back. There were knots there he’d been expecting, but today Harry seemed to just surrender to them, relaxing further as he kneaded the slightly starchy dress shirt covering the tense muscles. 

This time he didn’t try to make conversation, just focused on the quiet compliments Harry seemed to prefer, and Eggsy barely had to think about, they came that easily.

He finally glanced at the clock, barely registering that they’d already gone five minutes over and trying to bring himself to care, but he still took a minute to properly finish up, giving Harry’s ankle the squeeze that by now signalled he was done with him.

It wasn’t until they were moving toward the door that Harry spoke again.

“I know it was only a day, but it really feels like the sessions are a lot farther apart. Like this should have been the weekend.”

“Yeah, it’s a bit weird to adjust to. This next one is the one that’ll feel like bloody forever, we won’t meet back up until Monday. Just keep doing what you have been and you’ll be fine.”

“Just what I have been? I don’t need to add anything?”

He wasn’t sure what possessed him, but Eggsy smiled. “Yeah, unless you’d rather take a look at _The Guardian_ instead of _The Sun_ tomorrow.”

He wasn’t sure what had possessed him, but the response was immediate. A bright blush infused Harry’s cheeks, and for a moment Eggsy simply had to admire it, before he realized that Harry was well and truly embarrassed, and that wasn’t the best way to leave off for a whole weekend.

“You’re okay with all of the exercises we’ve gone over, yeah? I know it’s a lot to keep up with.”

The change of subject seemed to help, and Harry cleared his throat, taking a moment before answering. “Yes, I’m still not sure about the cross reaches, perhaps we could review those next week?”

“You can just send me a video if you ain’t sure about something. That’s why I give all of you my contact info in the beginning. I can give you feedback over the weekend on if you’re doing it right or if you need to change something, that way you don’t have to practice three days without those. They’re great for your balance, and it’s okay not to use weights at first, we’ll work up to those.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to impose on you over the weekend or anything, Eggsy. I’ll make do.”

“Send me a video.” He realized after he said it the way it had sounded. Like an order. But, and he had to be mistaken, it had almost looked as though Harry had swallowed when he’d said it. He dropped his voice, trying not to draw the attention of the other clients or therapists, his words for Harry alone. “Can you do that for me, Harry?”

He met his gaze for a moment longer before turning to go take care of his station. His next client would be here any minute, and he hadn’t started taking care of anything. Harry’s words were so quiet he almost missed them.

“Of course.”

\-------

He’d been ridiculous this week. Wednesday morning he’d woken up in a fantastic mood, going so far as to hum in the shower, and it wasn’t until he was sitting down for breakfast that he’d remembered his sessions had switched, and he wasn’t actually going to the clinic until the next day.

SInce he was already up and ready he’d headed in to headquarters to check in with Merlin. Surely his expertise could be put to use toward something, even if he would be a liability out in the field. Even a nice sniper’s job might be possible, he was doing well enough and could move quickly if absolutely necessary, even though he imagined Eggsy wouldn’t be thrilled with him.

Instead he’d arrived and had been bounced around as Merlin was busy. By the time he’d found Merlin (who he had caught admiring himself in a mirror while wearing an absolutely ridiculous toupée, not something Harry would let him live down anytime soon), he was in enough of a mood that Merlin had sent him packing. There had been nothing to do, and in a moment of weakness Harry found himself skulking outside of the very clinic he so often frequented.

Thankfully he’d brought a newspaper, because stalking a gym with tinted windows was not the brightest thing he’d ever done. In fact, it was bordering on creepy, and after a couple of hours Harry had had to admit that unless he stayed until Eggsy finished work the whole stakeout was pointless. It wasn’t until the next day that he found out it was worse than that. He’d been spotted. Him, a trained super spy, spotted by an unsuspecting physical therapist. He was an embarrassment to his trade.

At least, that was what he should have been focusing on, instead of thinking about how impressed he was by Eggsy. How confident he was, and the spark in his eyes when they sometimes bantered lightly when Harry was just about to leave, after Harry’s head had cleared up again.

But now it was Sunday, and Eggsy was still all he could think about. As the days wore down Eggsy’s voice seemed to somehow just get louder in his head.

_“Send me a video.”_

He had been around long enough to recognize an order when he heard one, and he’d never been the type to just blindly follow someone. Listen to someone that had earned his trust, sure, but blindly obey? Not his strong suit.

_“Can you do that for me, Harry?”_

Those were the actual words that kept him up at night. Eggsy’s voice had been soft, but he hadn’t been pleading with him. It was the voice that Harry worked so hard for, that calm, confident tone that soothed away everything else. And it had asked Harry to do it for him. He’d used Harry’s name, something Eggsy only did when Harry deserved it, and Harry didn’t want to disappoint him. He’d even agreed on the spot to do it.

But now it was Sunday, and he still hadn’t filmed anything.

He’d gone so far as clearing his living room to make it easier to video on Friday, but when it was time to actually set up his camera he’d faltered. Saturday he’d tried to figure out the angle of his camera, and had done pretty much everything other than press the record button.

If he showed up without ever sending anything he knew Eggsy wouldn’t say anything about it. Somehow he was certain of that. But he was also certain that something would change. That by doing this, he was agreeing that there was something more, something that might not be strictly confined to the walls of the clinic anymore. By not sending anything at all he was confirming the opposite, that this was something strictly professional. That all he wanted was something professional.

So, if he was being honest, there was a video he needed to film.

Somehow, pressing the small button to start the recording was the most difficult thing he’d done in years. It had been far easier to pull the trigger and take out a psychopath or to sleep with a repulsive politician than it was to lightly touch the screen of his phone before moving back so that the camera could capture him fully.

It felt silly standing there in his cardigan, staring at his own phone as if it was going to bite him. He didn’t know what to say, wasn’t sure if he wanted to talk, because during their sessions he never had to, and Eggsy still understood.

Going straight into cross reaches would be foolish, and he already looked silly enough doing them that he didn’t need to actually lose his balance in the process. So instead he let himself relax, head clearing slightly as he breathed and began to do a couple of basic exercises. Calf raises and simple lunges to loosen his muscles before transitioning into the cross reaches. He did them slowly, focusing on his balance and not making a fool of himself, doing them on each leg to keep his training balanced as well.

When he was done it felt natural to go into an IT band stretch, and a few reps of another couple of exercises. He wasn’t out of breath, but his muscles felt comfortably warm as he finally headed back over to his phone, suddenly remember what he’d been doing and wanting to end the recording as quickly as possible.

He’d searched his house Thursday for Eggsy’s contact information, and had put it in his phone then, sending the video without giving himself time to agonize over it. If he watched the video first he knew he’d never send it, and now all he could do was watch the tiny loading bar as the video compressed and sent.

_Delivered._

_Read 6:57_

\--------

It was excruciating waiting for Mr. Hart, _Harry,_ to arrive. He’d agonized since Thursday over the request, no the _order,_ he’d given his client. It hadn’t been planned, and he’d regretted the words that had spilled out of his mouth as he waited for some sort of response. Oh, he’d been well aware that the most likely response was a call from his boss, telling him he’d received a customer complaint, maybe even that he’d been fired. Still, he’d held out a bit of hope, hope that had twisted into raw nerves by Sunday.

He’d been prepared for the most awkward session of his life by the time his phone had buzzed Sunday evening, and at first he could scarcely believe his eyes. He’d had to shove his phone in his pocket, waiting a couple of minutes with his leg bouncing under the table before making excuses to his mates and leaving the pub earlier than he’d left in months. Walking home had been a special sort of hell, his phone seemingly getting heavier in his pocket with each step.

Even though he had his small flat to himself he’d found himself shutting the door to his bedroom and perching at the edge of his bed almost anxiously, fingers clumsy as he tapped open the video and let it play.

Harry hadn’t spoken a word in the video. He did the exercises slowly but flawlessly, in the careful manner that Eggsy had grown accustomed to during their sessions. It had been intense in a way that Eggsy hadn’t expected. Nothing could have prepared him for the soft, uncertain look on Harry’s face as the camera had come on, the closeness of the camera only accenting the vulnerability he was exposing. Nor was he prepared to see Harry in a lush cardigan rather than some form of a suit. It was an additional layer than the button-down that he typically wore during their sessions, but it somehow felt more intimate than usual. A side Harry didn’t often reveal.

Eggsy had had no idea how he was supposed to respond, tapping out replies several times before deleting them, finally settling on one and hitting send.

_Aint sure why u was worried that was aces. C u tomorrow_

None of that meant he knew what the fuck he was supposed to do today. Harry wasn’t his normal client, that was clear. But he wasn’t really sure what he was doing, or if he was even supposed to be doing it. He was doing what seemed natural, and judging by how Harry was reacting, he was in the same boat. 

As the clock ticked closer to the time of their appointment his anxiety only grew. It was only when Harry made his appearance, precisely on time, that he realized how ridiculous his worrying was. He caught Harry’s eye and nodded from across the room, watching with a bit of satisfaction as his client fell into the routine of their sessions, working on the basics without needing to be instructed to do so.

He took a few minutes before he wandered over, a light smile playing across his lips as he drew closer. “Those lunges are shit. You can fool some other bloody idiot, but I know you can do better. I got proof.”

What he hadn’t expected was the flush that rose in Harry’s cheeks, suffusing all the way to his ears, and he couldn’t resist pressing on. “You see, I got this video yesterday. Had to wait fucking for it, but it was worth it. I watched it over and over, so I know you can give me more. You’re going to push yourself for me today, aren’t you, Mr. Hart.”

It was strange, how words just seemed to flow out of his mouth, and how well Harry responded to them. The use of his name, formal as it was, seemed to be the last thing that was needed, and then Harry was working beautifully for him. Following his demands perfectly, the absolute ideal client.

It wasn’t until Eggsy was working on his massage that he brought up the video again. “Wasn’t sure if you was going to send me a video at all,” he mentioned, his tone light and conversational, masking the agony he’d felt while waiting to see if he’d ruined everything. “But what you wound up sending was perfect. Impressive honestly, Harry. Your range of motion is great for how far along we are, and I can tell you pay attention to doing that shit right the first time. Better than rushing through it like some dickheads do, you can mess shit up if you exercise wrong.” 

Harry relaxed at the words, and even while working through the fabric of his shirt Eggsy could tell that he’d become pliable, more relaxed.

Everyone else was out working on the floor, so he didn’t do more than lower his voice slightly when he spoke again. “I do want to see that cardigan in person though. Wear it to our session on Thursday.”

\--------

It was Monday, which should have meant it was one of his favorite days of the week. In fact, it had started off pleasantly enough. His session with Eggsy had been grueling, but ultimately satisfying. It hadn’t been nearly as intense as his session the Thursday before, where he’d shown up as instructed in his cardigan. 

Two months ago, everything about that would have seemed insane. Now, he couldn’t think about that session without his face heating up. There had been nothing untoward of course, Eggsy was a professional, and he was a client, he knew that. But he had been able to feel the weight of his therapist’s eyes on him throughout the session, and he’d almost sobbed in agony as he’d laid on the table, Eggsy working his magic on his overworked muscles. He’d had to escape to the wc when no one was looking, hoping no one noticed how flushed he was when he emerged a mere moment later.

Of course, he was still a trained professional. He knew his escape had been well timed, but the thought still haunted him every time he closed his eye. How out of control he had been.

How little he’d cared at the time.

It had been a long time since he’d experienced something even close to his sessions with Eggsy, but he was determined not to take advantage. Even when Eggsy sent him texts over the weekend. Small things, like a link to a “great workout video” that turned out to be some 80s aerobic hell. It wasn’t anything he should read into.

But their session had gone well today. It had been as relaxed as physical therapy could be, Eggsy had praised his progress, and even one of the other trainers had remarked that his therapy was coming along nicely as they’d headed toward the door. Eggsy had seen him off with a grin and a clap on the shoulder that had seemed to hesitate for a fraction of a second, and Harry had been in a good enough mood to go in to HQ.

That had been his mistake.

By the time he had tracked down Merlin, three basic level employees, those that worked on data mining or general upkeep of vehicles, that sort of thing, had stopped to comment on how well he seemed to be doing, and to ask him if he was officially retired from the field.

It was the pity in their eyes and voices that bothered him the most, that and the assumption that he was done. Washed up. And it hadn’t just been one person assuming that he’d be behind a desk or training new recruits for the rest of his career. In fact, it was almost as if people had been talking, and they’d decided without him what his future would be.

By the time he’d made it to Merlin he was fuming, which meant their conversation was terse and things that shouldn’t have been said were. Then Merlin had wound up kicking him out to focus on, as he had put it, “an actual mission,” and Harry had been left on his own to do essentially nothing. Because at the moment, that was all anyone at Kingsman thought he was good for.

He took the underground route back to Saville Row and meandered back to his house, pouring a generous measure of whisky into a tumbler before pausing, then pouring another healthy dose into the glass. The whisky was half gone by the time he found his phone in his hand, thumb hovering over his recent conversations.

_When my therapy is finished, do you think I will be able to go back to work?_

For a long time there was no reply, and in the meantime he stared blankly at one of his butterfly displays, lost in thought and desperately wishing the whisky would affect him more than it did. Finally his phone buzzed, and he snatched it off the arm of the chair.

_Sorry was with a client. Course u can thats the point yeah?_

_That was my primary goal._

_Then what r u worried about? Something happen?_

He settled back into his armchair, a bit of tension leaking from his shoulders.

_I just dropped by my work, and they seem ready to retire me. Or shove me into some sort of work behind a desk._

_That aint for u  
Fuck them_

A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, and Harry didn’t bother resisting it. If only today had been a Sunday, or perhaps a Wednesday, and then he’d at least be able to see Eggsy soon. 

His phone buzzed again, and he looked down at it with a bit of surprise as Eggsy’s name popped up again, not having bothered to wait for a reply.

_U need to take a night off and relax. Do something for urself.  
Something fun_

The words stared at him innocently, advice from someone concerned about him. But as he red over them again he noticed something. Something that the back of his mind told him was only Eggsy being concise via text, and it wasn’t as if the young man had the greatest grammar to begin with, but a deeper part was determined to ignore that logic, focusing instead on what the messages said. Or rather, what they didn’t say.

There was no request specified. No please, no should.

What Eggsy had sent him was an order.

A couple of hours later he returned Eggsy’s text. He hesitated over the message, wanting to thank him, but not sure how. It wasn’t something they normally did, acknowledging whatever it was between them, but he felt as though Eggsy deserved it. He was more relaxed than he’d been in years. 

All it had taken was the better part of bottle of chardonnay accompanied by a long soak, and now he was comfortable in his dressing gown, back resting against the headboard, halfway through _The Butterfly Garden_. He took a snapshot, deleted it, and then took another, sending the picture instead of words before returning to his novel.

\-------

It sucked being stuck at a wedding. He was lucky to get two days off a week, and unfortunately he was of the age when people were starting to pair off and get hitched, eating into his valuable weekend. This one at least came with an open bar, but the bride had (wisely) refused to open said bar until the toasts and speeches were done, leaving the guests with only enough champagne to pull faces at. He’d quaffed his half an hour ago and didn’t even have a buzz.

The bride’s great Auntie Myrtle was droning on about some incident with a treacle tart and a bishop when he finally pulled out his phone. Ryan was a groomsman, and if he was caught with his phone out he’d be slaughtered, and Jamal had managed to escape the wedding, but only because he had a funeral to be at instead. It didn’t leave him with a lot of options, but the one he wanted was there.

As he clicked on his conversation with Harry he couldn’t resist scrolling upward until he found the selfie Harry had sent Monday. He hadn’t been expecting it, but even now it made his pulse quicken. He hadn’t even meant for it to be an order, hadn’t realized Harry would see it that way, but he didn’t regret it. How could he when the older man looked utterly delectable in such a casual photo. Until now he’d done a pretty good job of not focusing on that sort of thing, but whereas the damn cardigan had _seemed_ vulnerable, a fucking robe was a whole other situation, and not one he could ignore.

It had meant Harry had somehow captured even more of his attention, and while Thursday he had had to break the news to him that they were ready to transition to only one session a week starting on Monday, he wasn’t entirely sure that either of them would be prepared to deal with it. They were starting to text almost daily. Pointless shit for the most part, nonsense requests for advice from Harry about exercises he’d done flawlessly for a month, memes from Eggsy that he wished he could see Harry’s face when he opened them. Of course, they could still do that once their sessions were only once a week, but the problem was Eggsy wasn’t sure if they should.

But the wedding was boring as fuck, and he could worry about that another day.

_How the fuck do u wear suits all the bloody time_

A moment later he managed to take a selfie while pointing his phone toward the front, hoping his friends would think he was taking a picture of some wedding shit. He did it quickly enough that it was off centered and a waitress was making an awkward face in the background, but it would have to do, so he sent it regardless.

_I can barely move_

With Harry it either took ages to get a response or there would be one almost immediately, and he was understandably relieved when his phone vibrated rather quickly. 

_While your suit looks quite nice, having a properly fitted suit makes a world of difference. I know some tailors I could introduce you to, if you’d be interested?_

_Don’t really wear a suit all that much_

_You might change your mind if you get a bespoke one. I can assure you I’m as comfortable in one of my suits as you are in your Adidas...outfits._

_I work out all day! The adidas makes sense!_

He’d stopped even pretending to pay attention by the time Ryan found him, and it was only then that he realized the toasts and speeches were over.

“Better put that away, if Madison sees you texting during her fucking reception you’re dead mate. Who the fuck you talking to anyway, I could see you grinning from up there.”

“Just a bloke from work,” Eggsy lied, trying not to cringe as the reminder sunk in. From work. “Ready to decimate the bloody dancefloor? We’ll show these tossers what’s what.”

\-------

These days it was harder to tell what part of the week was the worst. The days between their sessions stretched on endlessly, broken up by the few texts he exchanged throughout the day with Eggsy. Even though Merlin had started assigning things for him to read, brushing up on current events that wouldn’t have hit official news sources which was a sure sign they had plans to actually utilize him to his fullest extent in the near future, he was still overwhelmed by ennui much of the day. 

On the other hand, Monday had been excruciating in a different sense. He was losing his ability to look at Eggsy objectively, especially not when visions of him in a suit flitted through his mind at entirely inappropriate moments. He positively itched to get Eggsy into a properly fitted one, and if that’s where his thoughts ended it would have been a blessing. Instead, as Eggsy massaged him at the end of his session, pointing out the things he had done well, he was distracted with the thought of taking him out of said suit, lost to in the thought that Eggsy might actually allow him to do that for him.

What only made it worse was that he could so easily imagine Eggsy was looking at him in a similar fashion, his mind playing tricks on him or something. He had distinctly felt Eggsy’s thumb brush slowly at the base of his neck before he’d returned to the massage in earnest, and he had to remind himself several times that it wasn’t a tender gesture, but probably something absentminded. Mundane. 

Something he was beginning to focus on entirely too much in the shower. Because their sessions were no longer enough, and there was too much time between them.

Their text got him through Thursday perfectly fine, he was accustomed to that much of a wait, but by Friday he was becoming noticeably tense and snappish, to the point that he was gently kicked out of his fitting at Kingsman, and firmly told not to come back until he sorted himself out.

By the time he was ready to say fuck it all and to head to the gym, fully prepared to skulk around just to see the other man, it was too late. Eggsy worked fairly standard hours, and had mentioned getting off early on Fridays.

It was a moment of weakness when he sent the text, a headache throbbing in the back of his skull. 

_Is there something I need to work on this weekend?_

He set his phone down on the arm of his chair, feeling a light flush suffusing his cheeks, his headache already starting to ebb. He’d done actually done it, and there was no going back now. Now all he had to do was wait for his response. For his task.

It took longer for his phone to buzz than he’d initially expected, long enough for the headache to creep back in, and he took a deep breath before setting his thumb to the button to unlock the screen.

_Just keep doing what u have been_

He had to reread it to make sure he’d read it correctly, and tried not to be too dismayed. There wasn’t really anything he wanted to work on, other than what Eggsy wanted him to do. But the answer hadn’t been confusing, there was nothing to play dumb about. 

There was nothing to really be upset about, which almost made it harder to shake the feeling as he stared almost blankly at his phone.

It was only after Harry had made himself get up and start going through the motions that inspiration struck. A few minutes later he had changed into a charcoal grey cardigan, his phone carefully arranged to capture a large area of his living room.

This time he went through the exercises more quickly, proving he could do them at speed, that his physical therapy had paid off, majorly. In fact, he almost felt as if he’d regained some of his flexibility as he worked through the triangle lunges, finishing with a perfectly balanced set of toe taps.

Harry sent the message with the video attached, letting it compress as he went to clean up, the shower feeling nice after the workout he’d put himself through. He checked his phone as soon as he stepped out, still toweling his hair dry.

_Read 8:41_

And that was it. The video had been long though, he hadn’t really been thinking about that, and hopefully Eggsy had been near wifi, or maybe he was waiting to watch it later. No response wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.

It was hours later, when he’d been tossing and turning in his bed for longer than he wanted to think about, that his phone lit up the room with a new text.

_Ur doing fine dont worry so much_

At some point after three he gave up on the notion of sleep and went downstairs to read.

\-------

Normally getting up on Monday morning was a pain, but he’d be refreshed from the weekend, and after jogging to work he’d be wide awake and raring to go. Today he was struggling. He’d watched Harry’s video more than was necessary over the weekend, unable to resist going back and clicking on it again, but he knew it wasn’t right.

At the end of the day, Harry was his client. No matter how easy things seemed to be between them, he couldn’t forget that. There was a job to do, a patient to rehabilitate, and a paycheck to worry about. He’d managed to land a great job that actually left him free most nights and weekends, so he couldn’t afford to fuck that up, no matter how tempted he was.

That was the only reason he’d forced himself to stop texting Harry over the weekend, leaving the last message in their conversation his awkward response. He wasn’t an idiot, he was pretty sure Harry had sent him that video for reasons that weren’t strictly professional, but this had to stop.

He was so lost in thought that at first he didn't realize what time it was. When he noticed it was ten minutes past their appointment time he didn't quite believe it, but as it sunk in Eggsy began to worry. Harry was nothing if not punctual, to the point that Eggsy’s first instinct was to look around the room and make sure that he hadn't missed Harry coming in.

However, Harry was nowhere to be found. He checked his phone, anxious, but there were no new messages, no explanations or excuses waiting for him. His fingers were flying over the keyboard as he started to make his way over to the board in the back for employees, just to make sure there had been nothing posted there he could have missed, an opening in his schedule perhaps, before the sound of the door caught his attention. He looked up quickly, only to see a young woman limp in, waving at her therapist cheerfully.

The moment of distraction was what had him looking up, eyes drifting over the windows before darting back. For a second he wasn’t sure what had grabbed his attention, then he refocused on the copy of _The Sun_ that he could see.

He was out the door before he had really given it a second thought, worry and annoyance tangling together as he strode across the street, barely taking the time to make sure there was no oncoming traffic.

“Our damn session started fifteen minutes ago, you know that, yeah?”

“Actually,” Harry replied as he began carefully folding his paper, “I released myself from physical therapy. I’ve regained a great deal of motion already, and I’m confident I can work on strengthening on my own from here. Plus, I’m able to go back to work now. Still in a limited capacity, but it is only a matter of time at this point.”

“So, what? You was just going to not show up and let me figure it out?”

“Of course not.” Harry had the gall to look affronted. “I called the secretary to let them know, and then I came here to--”

His voice trailed off, and Eggsy gave him a moment before urging him on. “To?”

“To explain I suppose. It didn’t seem right not to. I wanted to make sure you knew that you’ve truly done excellent work, I’ve had physical therapy before and no one seemed half as skillful as you are.” Harry was clenching the paper in his fists now, worrying it slightly before his next words tumbled out of his mouth in a rush. “However, I’ve come to realize that what I really owe you is an apology, so I’ll just say that I won’t bother you again. I never meant to be pushy or to put you in an awkward position, I know you were just doing your job and I overstepped certain lines. Thank you for working with me.”

It was the sheer absurdity that left Eggsy’s tongue tied for long enough that Harry had taken a couple of steps before he could manage to speak.

“Wait.” 

Even leaving his mouth the word felt it carried a certain weight to it, a sharp snap of command honed by his frustration as he tried to piece together the jumble of words that Harry had just tossed at him. Rational thought fled his mind as he watched Harry’s spine straighten at the word, pausing almost in mid step before he turned.

“You wasn’t bothering me.”

It probably wasn’t the most important thing that he needed to say, but it was the first thing out of his mouth. 

“So you don’t owe me no fucking apology. I didn’t do anything I didn’t want to, and I didn’t think you did either.”

“Other than physical therapy in the first place?” Harry’s voice was clearly aiming for dry, but there was a roughness to it when he spoke, and it wasn’t fair how distracting that was.

“Yeah, other than that. You was a real prick when you sauntered in. I never meant to make you feel fucking uncomfortable though, or like I wasn’t right there every damn step of the way. It’s like you said though, yeah? It’s my job, and I ain’t in no position to risk it.”

Harry had that vulnerable look on his face, the same one he had when he pressed record on his videos, but it shuttered at his words.

“So I figured I’d try to be a bloody saint for a month or so. Wait til you weren’t a client no more.” As he spoke, he looked at Harry, meeting his one-eyed gaze levelly before beginning to close the distance between them.

“Looks like you found a shortcut.”

“Something along those lines.”

It was simple to slip his hand up to the back of Harry’s neck, the skin there already familiar to his touch as he closed the final distance between them. All in all it was a fairly chaste press of lips, fleeting pressure that lingered as neither of them wanted to pull away fully.

“What we’ve got, it’s different.” It needed to be acknowledged, even if it meant waiting a bit longer. “So I’ve got--I _need_ to know you’ve thought it through. That it’s what you want. If it is, text me an address, I’ll be there at 8:00. If it ain’t, I’ll understand.”

He wanted nothing more than to lean back in, to open up Harry’s mouth properly and kiss him long enough it’d cause a scandal, but it was only a matter of time before someone from work came looking for him. Besides, the ball was in Harry’s court now, and saying anything else would just be pressuring him.

Still, it took all his self control to turn, waiting on a passing car before jogging across the street.

He’d almost reached the door when his phone vibrated.

\--------

Sending the text hadn’t required any lengthy forethought. He’d long since realized that what he’d been missing was what Eggsy had been offering, and so he had already been willing to offer whatever was necessary for even that possibility.

Sending the text had been the easiest order he’d ever fulfilled.

Harry had spent the rest of the day fussing over his house, making sure everything was neat and tidy, including himself. There was no telling what to expect, but he found himself pulling on one of his favorite cardigans shortly after 7:00. He had to force himself to take out a book so as not to wear holes in the carpet.

Blissfully there was a knock at his door shortly before 8:00, rescuing him from the last few minutes of anticipation. What he hadn’t been expecting was Eggsy in something other than Adidas. Instead his hands were shoved into the pockets of his jeans which were paired with a nice, blue button down, infinitely more casual than anything Harry had in his wardrobe, but Eggsy pulled it off exquisitely.

“Welcome, please make yourself at home.”

Somehow they found themselves going through the motions of niceties, Harry offering a drink, Eggsy accepting. Before long they were in the living room, talking as though they had known each other for years as he sat in his favorite chair. It was all somewhat surreal.

“Can I get you another drink?”

“No, you’re going to stay seated.”

For a split second he was processing, and in the next he found himself nodding in agreement, his cheeks flushing as he settled back into the chair.

The Eggsy sitting across from him was the one that he knew well from his session. His voice was smooth and confident, and there was no question in his tone. It was the Eggsy that he knew he could simply trust to make good decisions, and he would be taken care of.

“After you left I was thinking about it, and you never said nothing about a trained professional clearing you. I put a fucking lot of work into that leg of yours, so I’m going to have to take a look for myself.

“Take off your trousers Mr. Hart. Shoes too.”

He didn’t even think about it, it was natural to focus on Eggsy’s voice and to obey. Instead he simply reacted, leaning forward to untie and pull off his shoes. He set them carefully to the side before sitting up again, fingers smoothly working his belt buckle open before moving to his button and zip. He braced his back on the chair to lift his hips up, sliding his trousers past them that way rather than standing. He pushed them over his thighs, bending forward to remove them fully, and then Eggsy was holding out a hand for them.

Harry handed them over wordlessly, watching as Eggsy moved over to gently lay them over the back of the sofa so they wouldn’t be too hopelessly wrinkled.

“Silk, I should have known.”

Eggsy was blatantly staring at him, drinking his fill in a way neither of them had ever dared at the gym, and Harry found himself stretching slightly, putting himself on display without being ordered to, knowing he had done the right thing by Eggsy’s sharp intake of breath.

“Still ain’t figured out how you fucking get anywhere without people throwing themselves at you,” Eggsy murmured as he crouched down. He reached out with a sure hand, stroking the backs of his fingers down the side of Harry’s calf, ignoring the transition to his socks.

“Hm, your scar healed up right nice. Must have had a hell of a surgeon.” Eggsy was massaging his calf almost absently, his other hand tracing over the scar with curious fingers. “Flex your calf, pull your toes toward you to start with.”

Harry fell into the motions, Eggsy keeping the air between them filled with a commentary of his leg’s condition which he didn’t focus on, letting the words lull over him until there was an order, and obeying it without hesitation. His world was narrowing down to the points where Eggsy’s hands were touching him, almost constantly in motion. 

At some point Eggsy had stood, stretching his leg and pushing it back to test it’s flexibility, but Harry simply found his gaze honed in on the way that the Eggsy’s shirt gaped open. The first couple of buttons had been left undone, and glimpses of pale skin adorning his collarbones had captured his attention.

It was only when he registered that Eggsy was no longer touching him that he managed to shift his focus, seeking out the young man’s face.

“Your recovery is bloody aces. I’ve got mates who ain’t got the mobility you got, and those blokes are still living with their mums. Seems you’ve earned your clean bill of health, Mr. Hart.

“So, the way I sees it, maybe a reward’s in order. I worked a damn miracle with you, and I deserve it, yeah?” He turned, snagging a throw pillow off of the sofa. “Take off those boxers, Mr. Hart. Don’t keep me waiting, I ain’t patient.”

At least there was no belt to fiddle with, but dragging the waistband over his prick was still torture. He hadn’t even realized how hard he’d gotten while caught in Eggsy’s thrall, though somehow he wasn’t surprised. 

They were barely off before Eggsy was kicking them aside and dropping the pillow on the ground. “Spread your legs, Mr. Hart, and I expect you to keep them spread. I’m going to suck your cock, been thinking about tasting you since you sent me that fucking picture in your fucking robe.” He knelt down on the pillow, close enough that Harry had to bite back a whimper, and Eggsy’s eyes snapped up to meet his own.

“Don’t.”

The word was forceful enough it started him, and Eggsy reached up to hold his chin, brushing a thumb over his bottom lip. 

“Don’t hold back on me. I want to hear everything. I want you to be loud, Mr. Hart. But you ain’t to move. And you ain’t allowed to touch yourself. You can touch me, put your fingers in my hair even. But you won’t guide me. Understood?”

There was a moment of silence where he realized Eggsy was waiting for a response, and he nodded.

That seemed to be enough, because the next thing Eggsy did was lean forward and wrap his lips around the swollen head of his prick, and he stopped trying to hold back. A cry ripped from his throat as Eggsy’s tongue purposefully drug across his slit, collecting any trace of precum. He moaned as Eggsy began to suck, hollowing his cheeks but not taking in any more of his shaft, creating friction, but not enough. Heavy pants drug themselves from his chest as Eggsy licked a long stripe up the underside of his cock.

He didn’t even recognize the sounds spilling out of his own mouth, sounds he hadn’t even known he was capable of making. Nor did he remember when his hands found Eggsy’s hair, curling into the short locks, needing every point of contact available to him.

He was still wearing his shirt and cardigan, Eggsy had never told him to take it off, and they were sweltering. The fabric felt tight on skin that was far too sensitive, wanting to be on display, but there was something about having it on. About not taking the time to take it off. It was a desperate feeling, and there was nothing he could do about it. He couldn’t thrust up into Eggsy’s mouth as he lapped his way along his shaft teasingly. He couldn’t touch or pinch his nipples that felt as if they’d go raw rubbing against his shirt. He couldn’t even beg, because he couldn’t find the words to do it.

This wasn’t going to last long, it couldn’t. It was a miracle he hadn’t come the first time Eggsy touched him, but it seemed as if Eggsy could understand his whines. After a moment he pulled back, smirking at the noise of protest Harry made, but Harry didn’t try to pull him back in.

“You’ve been doing so good for me.” Eggsy’s voice was rougher than normal, and a small noise left Harry’s lips unbidden, causing Eggsy’s smirk to grow even wider. “But remember, my reward is to taste you.”

His whimper this time was obvious, and he let out a moan of relief when Eggsy ducked his head back down, but Harry still wasn’t prepared for Eggsy swallowing him down. 

He’d never actually had someone deepthroat him before. He had blowjobs of course, even given a couple, but Eggsy didn’t seem to be aware that most people had gag reflexes. It was all he could do to keep his hips from twitching as Eggsy’s head bobbed up and down, the pressure around his cock almost too intense to bear.

And then he swallowed.

Harry was spilling down his throat before he even registered what was happening, only Eggsy’s firm grip on his hips keeping him from bucking into it.

After the last pulse he slumped back in his chair, breathing heavily, sweating under his shirt and cardigan, throat raw from crying out.

Eggsy was still kneeling in front of him, an entirely satisfied expression crossing his face as he swiped the back of his hand across his mouth. He missed a spot though, and on instinct Harry reached out to get it with his thumb. Eggsy let him, but then turned, capturing his thumb with his lips and sucking for a moment before releasing him.

“You were perfect, Harry. Why don’t you stay here for a minute, and I’ll go grab something to clean up with. Think I saw the loo on the way in.”

After a moment he could hear water running. It was hard to think about anything other than the fact that Eggsy wasn’t in the room with him, but his words kept running through his head. 

_You’ve been doing so good for me._

_You were perfect._

He was still relaxed in his blissful haze when Eggsy returned and knelt down again to get him cleaned up. “You need to drink something to stay hydrated after all that,” he murmured as he reached over to snag Harry’s fallen boxers, working them up his legs to his thighs so Harry could pull them on easily. “You want water or a cuppa?”

He shrugged, words not coming easily to him just yet, needing a few more minutes to gather his thoughts, and Eggsy nodded, standing. “I’ll be right back, just relax.”

By the time he returned with a glass of water, Harry had found his words, and he could feel his face flushing again as he took the glass from him. “Sorry, did you need to--?” He trailed off, because his usual focus still wasn’t back, but Eggsy seemed to catch on regardless, and had much less concern for tact.

“I had a hand free at the end there, trust me, everything’s taken care of.” He winked, then stole the glass Harry had set down on the end table and took a drink. “That cardigan alone could have done it.”

\--------

He’d asked Harry for an address, but he hadn’t actually intended to stay the night. Harry had left him sleeping, and by the time the smell of rashers and eggs had managed to wake him up enough to stumble downstairs there was a full table set, complete with some weird metal bird.

Course, even if he’d planned to stay the night nothing could have prepared him for the sight of Harry in an apron. Naturally there was a dress shirt and tie underneath.

“Something smells fucking amazing.”

“It should, breakfast is the one thing I can manage to cook.”

Eggsy lounged against the counter lazily until Harry shooed him back toward the dining area. “I ain’t saying I’m great, but I can manage a couple of things. I can actually whip up a bloody decent steak dinner. Asparagus and everything. My mum decided that if I knew one meal, a fancy one might pay off the best.” He paused for a second before continuing. “I could fix one for you sometime.”

“I’d like that.” Harry’s voice was soft, and exactly what Eggsy had hoped to hear as he sat down at the place next to him, finally done with preparations and ready to eat.

Breakfast was an easy affair, devoid of the awkwardness Eggsy had experienced more than once on a morning after, and the only thing he had to worry about was resisting the temptation of bending Harry over the table and fucking him with the apron still on.

It was at the end, when he was pleasantly stuffed but still eying another piece of toast and apricot preserves, that Harry’s tone turned serious.

“Perhaps it would have been wiser to have discussed a bit more last night before jumping into things, but there are things we need to talk about.”

For now, the toast was a lost cause, but it was an easy sacrifice if Harry needed his full attention. “Yeah, kind of figured there’d be stuff we needed to talk about. I forgot about asking you for your damn safeword for fuck’s sake.”

“I’d forgotten as well, truth be told, but that’s not what I wanted to talk about this morning. Tell me, have you ever heard of an organization called Kingsman?”


End file.
